


A Big Shop

by Naughty_Yorick



Series: Waiting For You to Come Home [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Shopping, Tummy rubs, and they were roomates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: “There’s nothing in the fridge,” Geralt said, “and we ran out of milk two days ago, and there’s no pasta left.” He pushed Jaskier’s legs aside and sat down on the sofa next to him, pulling on his boots. “We need to do a big shop.”Geralt drags Jaskier to Tesco for a big grocery shop. Jaskier raids the cheese samples, learns about wine and argues with Geralt about buying birthday cake from the reduced section. Later, Jaskier learns why getting plastered and eating an entire chocolate birthday cake to yourself is a bad idea.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Waiting For You to Come Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913770
Comments: 36
Kudos: 234





	A Big Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Technically I suppose this is part of the [Waiting For You to Come Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534440/chapters/56446972) universe, but as the last story in the collection ended on such a pining cliffhanger I felt a little bad leaping straight into this fluff. Enjoy!

Jaskier was sprawled across the sofa, playing on his phone, when Geralt chucked the stack of reusable carrier bags at him. 

“Come on,” Geralt said, “let’s go.” 

Jaskier whined. “But I don’t _want_ to go shopping, Geralt.” 

“You can’t survive on take out.” 

Jaskier pouted. He clearly disagreed. 

“There’s nothing in the fridge,” Geralt continued, “and we ran out of milk two days ago, and there’s no pasta left.” He pushed Jaskier’s legs aside and sat down on the sofa next to him, pulling on his boots. “We need to do a big shop.” 

“Urgh,” Jaskier groaned, “ _Why_?” 

“Because you need to eat,” said Geralt. “And we’re out of loo roll too. Unless you don’t need that either?” 

Jaskier made a disgruntled sound and simply rolled off of the sofa, sprawling on the floor at Geralt’s feet. 

“Fine,” he said, “let me get ready.” 

By the time Jaskier _was_ actually ready, Geralt was already waiting in the car. He threw himself into the passenger seat, chucked his backpack into the back, then spun around, slipping off his shoes and pressing his feet against the dashboard. After two years of complaining, Geralt had simply given up on telling Jaskier _not_ to get his feet all over his car. At least he took his shoes off now. 

Jaskier reached down for the aux cord and hooked his phone to the car speakers, even though Tesco was only a ten minute drive away. Geralt peered at him as he scrolled through his frankly baffling array of playlists. 

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier said, spotting that Geralt was watching him, “I’ll put on a Geralt playlist.” 

Geralt had never asked just how many _Geralt Playlists_ there were - but it appeared that Jaskier had made several. Not that it meant anything: Jaskier had a playlist for everything. Classic rock blasted out of the car’s speakers as they drove the short distance to Tesco, only getting a little stuck in the evening traffic. 

They found a trolley, with only a minor squabble over who was driving (neither of them wanted to - Jaskier won), then headed into the store. As they walked through the sliding doors, Jaskier hissed, making a dramatic disgusted sound. 

“What?” 

Jaskier pointed at the huge Jamie Oliver banner hanging from the ceiling. 

“Ah,” said Geralt, nodding, “the devil himself.” 

“He stole our turkey twizzlers!” 

“As you’ve told me _countless_ times.” 

“...Bastard.” 

Geralt led Jaskier away from the offending banner, and they headed towards fresh produce, Jaskier only getting a little distracted by the discounted homewares section that had suddenly appeared at the front of the store. Geralt had been making a concerted effort to buy food without packaging, and soon Jaskier was attempting to juggle with several loose onions. 

Their shopping trips were very rarely speedy affairs. Jaskier was easily distracted and easily bored, and Geralt was always, as Jaskier put it, “reading the bloody labels.” It didn’t help that they had differing shopping styles, too: Geralt liked to go up and down every aisle, one at a time, where Jaskier’s methods were far more chaotic as he bounced around the shop, retracing his own footsteps several times. 

They were moving into the chilled aisles, when Jaskier suddenly stopped, his hand gripping Geralt’s arm. 

“Wait!” He said, urgently, “I want to see what’s on reduced…” 

Jaskier bounded over to the reduced section, tucked away at the edge of the bakery, examining the nearly-stale breads and bagels. Jaskier always looked at the reduced sections, even now - even when he no longer needed to buy the cheapest food he could, scrimping and saving on every shop. Geralt wasn’t sure if it was a habit he struggled to let go of, or if Jaskier just enjoyed the apparent thrill of finding something weird on 75% off. It was like a shitty raffle. 

“Geralt!” 

Geralt pushed the trolley over, prepared to be underwhelmed. “What?” 

“I need this.” 

Jaskier was holding an enormous chocolate birthday cake in his hands. It had a large, yellow sticker proclaiming that it was half off. 

“You don’t need it.” 

“I do!” 

“Last time I let you buy a cake you got drunk, ate it all, and were sick.” 

Jaskier stuck out his bottom lip. “And I’ve learnt my lesson and won’t do it again, will I?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt wasn’t sure if _learning lessons_ was something Jaskier did. 

“Come on, Geralt,” he said, pointing at the price, “it’s so cheap that _not_ buying it is a bad investment. By not buying this cake, you’re _losing_ money.” 

“That’s not how this works.” 

“That is _exactly_ how this works. Come on, we _have_ to get it.” 

“We don’t have to do anything.” 

“Please!” Jaskier drawled, batting his eyelids at him, pulling the saddest face he could muster. “It’s not even--” A woman, eyeing them both carefully, chose this moment to reach around Jaskier and grab a discounted loaf of bread before scuttling quickly away, “it’s not even that much!” 

“Hmm.” 

“You’re so mean.” 

“We agree on that, then.” 

“All I’ve ever asked for is this discount cake, Geralt!” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’ve asked for at least six things since getting in the shop, including that ridiculous garden gnome in the homeware display.” 

Jaskier gaped at him in faux outrage. “He wasn’t ridiculous, he was _handsome!”_

“Don’t buy the cake, Jaskier.” 

“Fine!” Said Jaskier, putting the cake back and raising his hands above his head, “I knew you never loved me, you _beast_.” 

Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s amateur dramatics. He wanted to retort that he’d never told Jaskier he loved him in the first place, but something stopped him. He sighed, as Jaskier stomped away towards the end of the aisle. When Geralt was sure he wasn’t looking, he grabbed the cake and buried it beneath the vegetables at the end of the trolley, then went to catch up with him. 

“What _do_ we need, then?” Said Jaskier, bumping him with his shoulder, “Mr. Sensible?” 

“Everything.” Said Geralt. 

Jaskier sniffed. “Right”, he said, peering down the next aisle, “...we need yoghurt, and milk from down there, and then we should pick up some--” Jaskier fell silent. “Hold on.” 

“What are you--” 

He skipped off, leaving Geralt with the trolley. Geralt shrugged and continued with the shop, quickly moving down the aisle. He didn’t _enjoy_ shopping: he suspected anyone who claimed to have fun shopping was either lying or mad. He was about to turn into the next aisle, when Jaskier reappeared. He was holding cocktail sticks in his hands, topped with little cubes of cheese. 

“Samples!” He said, mouth full, “they’re good, too. Open!” 

Geralt reacted automatically, and before he’d realised what he’d done Jaskier was popping one of the little cheese cubes in his mouth, pulling the cocktail stick away from between his lips. It _was_ good. 

“It’s some kind of… smokey cheddary thing,” said Jaskier, eating another, “it’s _ridiculously_ expensive, of course, but the samples are good. Another?” 

Carried along by Jaskier’s enthusiasm, Geralt nodded. Jaskier pulled the final sample from its stick and proffered it to him between his fingers. They repeated the ritual from before - Jaskier popping the morsel into Geralt’s mouth without Geralt ever even taking his hands from the handle of the trolley. Jaskier’s fingers brushed against Geralt’s lips for just a fraction of a second. The touch wasn’t unwelcome - it was warm and soft and, _fuck_ , it was like electricity. If Jaskier felt the same little jolt, he certainly didn’t show it, however: quickly becoming distracted and leaping away with a shout over his shoulder about needing to get more tinned tomatoes. 

Geralt followed him, feeling horribly aware of how _domestic_ Jaskier was acting around him. He’d always been touchy, but there was something about the way he pushed against him or stole the trolley from him or hand fed him samples of smoked fucking cheddar that felt like he was crossing an invisible line that even Geralt didn’t understand. 

And what was worse, of course, was that Geralt _let_ him. He hadn’t even considered _not_ letting him. 

He turned the corner to see Jaskier carrying a dozen tins, stacked on top of each other, and quietly chastised himself for having a mini crisis over smoked cheddar. Jaskier let the tins drop noisily into the trolley and grinned at him, face flushed. 

“What next?” He said. 

They traipsed up and down the shop, Jaskier occasionally remembering something several aisles back and running back to grab it, before they reached the far end, and the alcohol. 

“Hold on, I want wine,” said Jaskier, leading them down the final aisle, perusing the shelves. 

He grabbed two bottles of _Blossom Hill_ , but before he could get them in the trolley Geralt held out his hand. 

“ _Blossom Hill_ , Jaskier? Really?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “It’s cheap.” 

“It tastes like piss.” 

“And you’d know what piss tastes like?” Jaskier retorted, with a snort. “I knew you were an intolerable beer snob, but _wine_ too now?” 

Geralt ignored him. “Look,” he said, “are you buying it because you genuinely like it and it _happens_ to be cheap, or are you buying it _because_ it’s cheap and you can tolerate it?” 

“Does it make a difference?” 

“Put it back and get something that costs more than £10.” 

“But I can't--” 

“ _I’m_ paying,” said Geralt. “It’s my turn.” 

Jaskier hesitated, unsure. Geralt abandoned the trolley and gently removed the two bottles from his hands, placing them back on the shelf. 

“Choose something good,” he said. 

“But…” 

“Choose something good or you’ll be stuck with the dry red I like.” 

Jaskier pulled a disgusted face. “Alright,” he said, “Okay. Um. Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing,” said Geralt, dismissively, trying to ignore the look Jaskier was giving him. 

In the end, they got a bottle of rosé, a bottle of red and, upon a little wheedling from Jaskier, a bottle of the sweet dessert wine that Vesemir had gotten Jaskier into last Christmas. Geralt had winced as Jaskier placed the bottle in the trolley. 

“You really like that stuff?” He said. 

“I like sweet things,” said Jaskier, shrugging. He peered at Geralt, smirking. “Most of the time.” 

Geralt looked at the trolley. “Is that everything?” 

“I think so. Come on, let’s go. I’m bored of Tescos.” 

They headed to the tills and started to unpack - Jaskier haphazardly throwing things onto the conveyor belt and Geralt rearranging them into some semblance of order: heavy things first, then frozen, then fresh food, then dry. Jaskier watched him with raised eyebrows as he slotted everything in place, like a game of Tetris. 

Jaskier was piling vegetables on top of the Cornflakes, much to Geralt’s annoyance, when he gasped. 

“You got the cake!” 

Geralt allowed himself a small smile. “Now you can’t say I never loved you,” he said, without thinking. 

Both of them froze. Jaskier was suddenly very preoccupied with the shopping, apparently completely absorbed with sorting through the food, keeping his head down, his hair obscuring his face. Geralt’s ears were turning hot, and he quickly turned away. He mumbled out a quick greeting to the cashier, feeling suddenly awkward, and headed towards the end of the till and pulled his bag from his back, reaching inside for the plastic bags he’d brought with him. 

He was starting to pack, focusing on making sure the bags were sorted correctly, when Jaskier appeared silently behind him. His face was flushed, and he reached over to grab another bag, packing alongside Geralt. He appeared to have put the weirdness behind him. If Jaskier could ignore the near-confession, then so could Geralt. 

They packed and paid, Jaskier stretching over Geralt to pass the cashier his Clubcard so he could get more points, then headed back into the carpark. Jaskier, who had commandeered control of the trolley, ran across the carpark and let it fly, picking up his feet, giggling. Geralt grabbed the trolley just before Jaskier could crash it into a parked car. 

They finally got the bags into the boot, and Geralt watched in the rear view mirror as Jaskier rode the trolley across the carpark towards the station, narrowly avoiding a small child. He sauntered back, in the careless way he always did, illuminated by the cool autumn sunshine. Geralt found himself watching him in the mirror, suddenly distracted. 

He looked away as Jaskier slid into the passenger seat. Shoes off, feet up, aux cord plugged in, and they were off again. This time, Jaskier had chosen something a little more vintage, and the Human League’s _Don’t You Want Me_ blasted through the speakers. Jaskier sang along noisily, the window down, the wind ruffling his already messy hair. By the time they pulled up the driveway, he looked like he’d been in a gale. He glanced at himself in the passenger mirror, critically, before helping Geralt heave the bags into the kitchen. 

“Right,” said Geralt, looking at the bags littering the counter tops, “Let’s put this away.” 

Jaskier leant in the doorway. “Oh!” He said, as if suddenly remembering, “I should really go get my washing, I need to do a load before--” 

“Oh no you don’t,” wanted Geralt, “you always do that. Try to get out of putting the shopping away. Come on,” he handed him the bag of frozen food, “you can do the freezer.” 

Jaskier grumbled, but took the bag from him and swung open the freezer door, scattering fridge magnets. Together, they sorted the shopping and shoved the empty bags into _another_ bag, then threw the whole thing under the sink. 

“There,” said Geralt, “Done.” 

Jaskier pulled himself up onto the counter, perching there while Geralt looked around the tidy kitchen. 

“What time is it?” He asked. 

Geralt pulled out his phone. “Half six.” 

“I guess we should do dinner then.” 

“I guess we should.” 

Geralt opened the fridge and they both peered inside at the stacks of fresh, healthy food. There was a long pause. Jaskier hopped back down, then ducked beneath Geralt’s arm to look inside. 

“So…” he said, “Chinese?” 

Geralt shut the door again. “Chinese.” 

“I’ll get the usual, shall I?” Said Jaskier, pulling out his phone. “It’s my turn to pay, anyway.” 

~ 

Jaskier settled himself on the sofa next to Geralt, performing a dangerous balancing act of Chinese food in one hand, glass in the other, and a bottle of wine tucked beneath an arm. 

“Right,” he said, placing everything down, “who’s turn is it to pick the movie?” 

“Mine.” 

“Damn,” he laughed, “I hoped you’d forgotten. What is it?” 

Geralt flicked through the streaming service, plugging the name into the search bar. “ _Master and Commander._ ” 

Jaskier groaned. “Oh, _no_ , Geralt, not men in boats. You _know_ my feelings about men in boats.” 

“It’s good.” 

“Is it even gay? Is it even a _little bit_ homoerotic?” 

Geralt thought for a moment. “If you squint.” 

“Then squint I shall,” said Jaskier, taking a sip of his wine before placing it precariously next to the sofa, “Let’s see these men in boats.” 

Two and a half hours later, empty plates discarded on the floor next to two nearly-empty bottles of wine, Jaskier sat with his ankles crossed across Geralt’s knees as the credits rolled. 

“That wasn’t actually that bad,” he said, generously. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. 

“Right, come on,” said Jaskier, standing up, “I want more wine.” 

Geralt grabbed the discarded plates and followed Jaskier into the kitchen, where he’d swapped his bottle of Rose for the sweet dessert wine. Geralt wrinkled his nose at him, amazed that he could bear to drink anything so sweet, pouring himself out the last of his own dry red. 

Jaskier was placing the bottle back in the fridge, when he suddenly gasped. 

“Geralt!” He said, grinning with wine-stained lips, “Cake!” 

Gerat had to admit that after seeing off a bottle of wine, the prospect of cake was a very appealing one indeed. “Alright,” he said, “but just a bit.” 

Jaskier pulled the cake out of the fridge as Geralt grabbed a couple of plates. He sliced the cake with all the reverence of a child at a birthday party, then slid a slice onto each plate, passing one over to Geralt, along with a fork. Geralt noted that Jaskier did _not_ feel that a fork was suitable for eating cake: he preferred to use his hands. 

They watched a few cheesy videos on Youtube, streamed on the TV, before Geralt could feel sleep tugging at him. 

“Hmm,” he said, halfway through a show about ghost hunters, “I think I’m going to bed.” 

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Jaskier complained, swilling the wine around his glass. 

“I’m not,” Geralt agreed with a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He went to leave, when a sudden thought struck him. “Don’t drink that all tonight.” And then another thought. “And don’t eat all that cake, either.” 

Jaskier grinned at him, but said nothing, and Geralt made his way up into his room. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on his pyjama bottoms and buried himself under the duvet, happily buzzed. A cool breeze was blowing in from outside, and the cold autumn air was a much needed respite from the smothering summer heat. Feeling content, and warm, and perhaps more than a little drunk, he quickly slipped into sleep. 

~ 

_CRASH._

Geralt’s eyes flicked open. He groaned, then grabbed his phone. The light blinded him and he swore, wincing, as he tried to unlock it and turn the brightness down. 

It was 2:31am. He could investigate the noise in the morning. He rolled over, pulling the duvet up, ready to go back to sleep, when there was another noise: a groan. 

With a sigh, he reached out and turned on the bedside light, then got out of bed and opened his bedroom door. Light was spilling out into the dark landing from the bathroom. He frowned to himself, pushing his long hair out of the way behind his ear. There was another low moaning sound. 

The bathroom door was wide open, and Geralt walked in, cautiously. Jaskier was lying curled up in the empty bathtub, wearing his old pyjamas and using a bath towel as a pillow. There were two bottles of shampoo at his feet - that must have been what Geralt heard crashing. 

“Jaskier?” 

Jaskier responded with a moan. Geralt immediately knew what had happened. 

“Did you eat all that cake, Jaskier?” 

Jaskier’s eyes were squeezed shut. “...No,” he managed. 

Geralt squatted at the side of the tub. “I can see the chocolate around your mouth.” 

Jaskier frowned, then turned his head so it was buried in the towel. “No you can’t,” he said, the sound muffled. 

Geralt wanted to be mad at him. He wanted to chastise him for having absolutely no self-control while drunk. But judging by the sad noises Jaskier was making and the lingering smell of vomit in the bathroom, he’d been punished enough. He sighed. 

“Stay here.” 

Jaskier made a little noise that might have meant ‘where else will I go?’, and Geralt went back to his room, pulling open his drawer of medicines and painkillers. He found a little bottle of Gaviscon, and gave it a shake to make sure there was some left. He also grabbed the empty glass from his bedside table. 

“Here,” he said, lowering the bottle into the bath, “have some of this.” 

Jaskier finally opened his eyes. “Eurgh,” he said, “No.” 

“It’ll help.” 

Jaskier sat up, his face pale. “Fine.” 

He took the little bottle from Geralt’s hand, twisted off the lid and drank a mouthful. Geralt refilled the glass as Jaskier kicked his against the bottom of the bath in disgust. 

“Urgh,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It tastes like piss.” 

“And you’d know what piss tastes like?” Said Geralt, raising his eyebrows and passing him the glass. 

Jaskier scowled at him. “Shut up,” he said, unsteadily, “I’m dying.” 

He took a few sips of the water, placed the glass on the edge of the bath, and lay back down. 

Geralt reached in and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Jaskier didn’t shrug him off, which he took as a good sign. 

“You can’t stay there all night,” he said. 

“Why not?” Asked Jaskier, curling tighter around himself, “It’s convenient.” 

“Convenient for _what_?” 

“Vomiting.” 

Geralt settled himself on the floor, feeling his legs beginning to go numb. He kept his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“When were you last sick?” He asked. 

He felt Jaskier shrug beneath his hand. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Twenty minutes ago?” 

“Then you’re probably not going to be sick again. Go to bed, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier whined again. “Can’t.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Silence. 

“Come on,” Geralt held out his hand, “Up you get.” 

Jaskier grumbled, but took his hand and stepped out of the bath, slowly. His face was pale. Geralt directed him to the sink, and Jaskier noisily washed out his mouth then splashed water on his face. 

“You alright?” Geralt asked, watching him in case he suddenly ran to vomit again. Jaskier nodded, wordlessly. His hair was a nest around his head. “Go to bed.” 

Jaskier sighed, but silently complied, walking from the bathroom and letting the door swing shut behind him. When he was gone, Geralt grabbed the towel from the bottom of the bath and threw it into the washing hamper. Next, he took the glass, rinsed it out and put it on the windowsill. He’d take it downstairs and wash it in the morning. Usually, he wasn’t particularly worried about sharing glasses with Jaskier, but he felt he was allowed to be a little more picky when vomit was involved. He gave a cursory glance at the toilet - thankfully, Jaskier had managed to keep all vomit in the bowl and not on the floor - then after a cautious flush he bleached it, too. 

Now the bathroom was suitably clean, he turned off the light and headed back to his room. 

As he entered, he realised there was a lump beneath the duvet. He crept forwards, and in the low light of the bedside lamp, he could see that Jaskier had made his way not into his _own_ bed, but into Geralt’s. He was right at the edge of the bed, facing away from him, the duvet gripped in one hand. His eyes were shut, but he certainly wasn't sleeping: it always took Jaskier an age to fall asleep, especially if he was feeling sick. 

For the briefest moment, Geralt wondered if he should send Jaskier back to his own room. But it was only a moment, and the thought passed as quickly as it had arrived. Geralt cursed himself and his bloody softness wherever Jaskier was involved, then turned off the light and slid under the duvet beside him. 

“This isn’t exactly what I meant,” he said quietly, “when I said to go to bed.” 

It took Jaskier a few seconds to reply. “You should have been more specific, then.” 

“Hmm.” 

Apparently reassured that Geralt wasn’t about to kick him out, Jaskier edged closer towards the middle of the bed. He wriggled about, clearly struggling to get comfortable. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I feel like shit.” 

Geralt was about to comment on how feeling like shit was the obvious result of getting plastered and eating an entire cake, but thought better of it as Jaskier sighed into the pillow, his legs sliding up and down beneath the duvet as he failed to find a comfortable sleeping position. 

“Jaskier?” 

Jaskier mumbled at him, sadly. Geralt shuffled forwards, acting before any logic or reason could catch up with him, and pressed himself to Jaskier’s back, hooking his arm around him. Jaskier immediately stopped wriggling, relaxing into the touch. After a moment, he slid one of his legs between Geralt’s ankles. 

For a few minutes, everything was still and silent. Jaskier’s hair tickled at Geralt’s nose, but he didn’t want to move away, breathing him in - even if he _did_ smell a little like chocolate cake. And then, breaking the quiet, was an unpleasant gurgling noise. Jaskier twitched, curling up on himself with a pained sound. 

Geralt didn’t even think. If he’d been thinking, he’d probably have stopped himself. Because all he knew was that Jaskier was in pain, self-inflicted or not, and Jaskier was suffering, and Jaskier _needed_ him - and he moved the arm that was resting across Jaskier’s body lower, placed his hand on his stomach over the top of his baggy t-shirt and gently began to move it back and forth in what he hoped was a comforting movement. 

His mind didn’t catch up with him until Jaskier went suddenly still, his breath catching. Geralt froze. _Shit_. It was too much. It was too intimate, too soft, too domestic: too much of all the things both of them had been dancing around but ignoring for months. He was about to move away, to banish himself to the other side of the bed, when Jaskier spoke. 

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, “that helps.” 

“...yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Jaskier shifted back, pressing himself closer to Geralt’s chest. “It’s nice.” 

Geralt swallowed, then pulled Jaskier a little closer to him. This time, he slid his hand beneath the fabric of the shirt, which elicited a soft _hum_ in response. Jaskier’s skin was soft and hairy - Geralt always forgot just _how_ hirsute he was, especially compared to himself. He gently pressed his hand against Jaskier’s slightly swollen stomach - something that would have been inperceptable to someone who didn’t spend all their fucking time staring at him - and began to rub back and forth once more. After a few moments, Jaskier relaxed against him with a sigh. 

Beneath the duvet, with Jaskier pressed against him, breathing deeply, everything felt very warm and soft. It felt _right_. Geralt wasn’t sure how long they lay like that - Jaskier’s feet tangled between his, his hand stroking back and forth against his stomach - but soon his eyes were sliding closed, and however much he wanted to stay awake and enjoy the feeling of Jaskier in his arms, he felt himself drifting to sleep. 

~ 

Geralt woke to a bright light shining in through a crack in the curtains. At first, he couldn’t recall why he was so very warm, or why his right arm was numb. And then it all came back to him. He glanced down. Jaskier had wriggled around in the night, as he always did, and had turned around in his sleep. One of his arms was thrown across Geralt, and his leg was hooked up over his thighs. His head was pressed into Geralt’s shoulder, mouth hanging ajar, gently drooling all over Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt had somehow wrapped his arm around him in the night, keeping him close. 

Jaskier seemed fully recovered from his little mishap the previous evening, still fast asleep. Geralt stretched out the hand of his numb arm, feeling it tingle back into life. He peered at the growing puddle of drool. 

And he closed his eyes, and went back to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed :D I'm also on Tumblr, at [A-kind-of-merry-war](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
